Training with a nobody

[Sharps Lashscore]

Sharps felt his stamina kneeling to the digging need to rest. But the hatred (untainted) egged him on ... the sparkle of that murderous, hissing blade determined he not abate from the training centre.

A high-pitched voice jolted him out o' his steeled mind, and the arcs and complicated, barbaric manoeuvres he had so wizenly snatched himself in and out o'...

"Why did you let him go."

"I ain't know." Salty seat oozing off his brow.

"He didn't bloody deserve it." The voice had a stricken, harassed edge to it, the face not that much different. Almond-colored eyes and a ragged, blonde beard moving in step with his blade-work like a wretch's hope vested in an evasive pendulum.

"Most who live don't deserve it." Sharps said, the rain spitting down on his tanned face and Amatrat's pockmarked one. Sharps sword snaking out shivery fast, adding savage cuts to Amatrat whom countered out with a vengeful shatter on Sharp's own defenses; Sharps' feet ripping back a few inches and seeing the tip at his throat.

Sharp's snarled, and he spun some back, his blade thrusting in the current-stung air towards Amatrat. "Again..." He said gravelly and docile.

Amatrat carved a smile on his scar-streaked lips and gave a friendly nod as their blades wriggled and embraced against each other. Clattered off; Sharps pushing Amatrat twenty brood yards back. Amatrat elicited a yelp, stood up, and billy-goat rushed towards Sharps. "And those who deserve life less than you?" Amatrat said after a moment of picking himself off the ground; the world had gone up in bright light for what felt like a hefty time.

Sharps considered, "Grief."

They fought for a bit longer before both the fatigue overpowered them entirely.

Despite the many battle scars they'd willfully inflicted upon each other (not that a pretty boy look was even remotely realistic) and despite the range of combat moves learned and honed in on, the disparaging remarks thumped his way (courtesy of his sparring ally), and the irrevocably pressured situation of a few surviving pedestrians witnessing his not-so-professional larceny abilities...

The only time the barbarian is spotted is later on... mid-day when the sun flashed sweat-jarring beams from a magnificent albeit mysterious fire despite it's long-survived existence, and the thrashing unstunned winds weaved and tugged hard against Sharps' mighty bulk, cold and ruthlessly bitter as he adds meat to the growing flames licking around the black, gloomy fire-pit.